Budapest
by Shadowpool95
Summary: <html><head></head>Natasha knew they were in trouble. They were trapped. Her and her- …partner. She could barely stomach the thought of the word. But the chances of reaching the exit in time were non-existent, even with it being a mere ten feet away. The threat was too close. They weren't going to make it out of this one alive.</html>


This train is still boarding, right? The next installment of my ADC Universe (If you haven't read my other story "A Different Call" yet i suggest you go and do that). This is, of course, my take on what happened in Budapest. I'm warning you now, after I reveal what I have planned, some of you wont like me. _I _don't even like me ._. Anyway, onto the story!

-Shadow

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><p>Natasha knew they were in trouble.<p>

They were trapped. Her and her- …_partner_. She could barely stomach the thought of the word. But the chances of reaching the exit in time were non-existent, even with it being a mere ten feet away. The threat was too close. They weren't going to make it out of this one alive.

"I don't even know what to do with you two."

Phil Coulson stuffed his hands in the pockets of his crisp dress pants, exasperation written all over his face.

Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff didn't respond. They refused to look at each other, their mutinous gazes locked in opposite corners of their handler's office instead. They had returned from their last mission a few hours ago, bruised up, bloody, and fuming. Coulson had ordered them straight to medical to get cleaned up, and to try their best at _not_ tearing each other's throats out.

Now Natasha was seated in a chair in the confines of Coulson's office, with Clint in his own chair to her left, and their handler leaning against his desk in front of them. Every muscle of hers was still. Her ankles were crossed and her arms were crossed and even thought her eyes were focused on the fake plant in the back corner of the room, she _knew _Clint was fidgeting beside her.

She had no idea why he was so nervous. It's not like this was their first mission. Or their first time being reprimanded after a mission. But he was tapping his fingers against the leg he had propped up on his chair as he perched there like a _god damned bird_ and his other foot was practically bouncing against the floor and he was getting on her _last nerve_.

"Could you sit still for two minutes?!" she snapped sharply, turning her head around to look at him. Her red hair was dangerously close to whipping her partner in the face.

Clint turned to glare at her before the second half of the sentence had even left her mouth. "Could you not be a hardass all the time?"

Natasha opened her mouth to shoot back a biting retort, but Coulson interrupted her before the pair could really get into an argument. Again.

"Both of you, stop it." His voice was raised louder than usual.

Clint and Natasha snapped their mouths shut, but continued to glare daggers at one another in silence.

"I don't know what to do with you two," Coulson repeated. "You act like children whenever you happen to be in the same room. You constantly fight over everything, and you can't seem to cooperate long enough to get anything done." He let out an exasperated breath. "_You _didn't wait for backup," he accused, pointing a finger at Natasha before moving it towards Clint, "and you not only let her go, but then felt the need to jump through a _window_ when she did need backup."

The assassins both hung their heads. Clint at least had the grace to look chastised, while Natasha simply looked like she would rather be _anywhere_ than where she was.

Coulson shrugged, like he really was clueless about what he should do. "Despite all that, your mission was a success. You did exactly as you were assigned. Eventually." The last word was tacked on dryly as an afterthought.

Natasha looked up at their handler, steadily meeting his hard stare. "We _would_ have taken care of things a lot sooner," she claimed, "if it wasn't for Barton's _attitude problem_."

Clint scoffed. "Attitude problem?" He leaned back in his chair, shifting so both his feet were firmly planted on the ground. "I hate to be the one to tell you this, but I don't have an attitude problem. You have a problem with my attitude, and that's not my problem."

"You told me that you weren't going to follow my plan because it was stupid," Natasha barked back, once again glaring at Clint like she'd like nothing better than to crack his skull wide open.

Coulson bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. _Here we go again,_ he thought exhaustedly.

"I did," Clint agreed, "because it was and would have gotten us killed."

"Нет, если вы могли бы сделать ничего правильно!" Natasha countered, switching to Russian out of pure animosity. (_Not if you could do anything right!_)

Clint rolled his eyes, exaggerating the motion in a way he knew would irritate his partner the most. "I can't understand you, _Tasha_," he goaded, pulling out all the stops in his crusade to drive her nuts. She hated nicknames.

Fists balled, Natasha gritted her teeth. "Это не моя вина ваш мозг слишком мал чтобы узнать ничего кроме стрельбы заостренными палками людей." She spat out the words like they physically cost her. (_It is not my fault your brain is too small to learn anything besides firing pointy sticks at people._)

"First I can't understand you," Clint began in a tone that would suggest he was disappointed at that fact. He reached up to his ears and pulled out his hearing aids before continuing, in a slightly louder volume. "And now I can't hear you. What a shame!"

The first time he did that, Natasha had been shocked. At both his deafness and his brazen disposition. Now she was infuriated.

She shot to her feet, sending her wooden chair flying backwards. "Может быть вы должны попытаться получить голову из задницы то!" she retorted, matching his volume. (_Maybe you should try getting your head out of your ass then!_)

"That's it!" Coulson took a step forward, deciding to intervene before things went too far.

Clint hastily shoved his hearing aids back in, while Natasha fumed silently.

Coulson pointed at the door. "You two need to get out. Out of my office and out of my hair. Or what's left of it." The two assassins were definitely the prime reason for his premature baldness, gray hairs be damned. "Go find something to entertain yourselves with that _doesn't_ include maiming your partner while I figure out what on earth I could possibly do to get the pair of you to get along."

"You could try freezing hell over," Clint snorted, earning him twin glares.

Natasha turned on her heel and stalked out of the office, slamming the door open with a lot more force than necessary. With another roll of his eyes Clint got up and followed her, closing the door just as hard.

Coulson let out a weary sigh once they were gone.

He would be the first to vouch for the pair and their abilities in the field. Their fighting skills were almost unparalleled, their stealth was handled with avid competence, and their mindset and planning did more than hint at a finesse you couldn't teach. They were deadly and efficient.

But they also acted like children.

He went over to pick up the chair Natasha had knocked over, shaking his head in exasperation at the perfect example.

They had both made it very clear that they preferred working on their own. Multiple times. One of them in multiple languages, but both in equal amounts of tantrums. The missions that were lining up for them however… they couldn't work them alone. They needed backup, and Coulson thought Fury was smart in putting them together; they were probably the only people in the world that could keep up with the other.

Coulson sat down at his desk and ran a hand down his face. Unfortunately they also had the tendency to butt heads over _everything_.

Everything that had to do with their missions. Everything that _didn't_ have to do with their missions.

He had learned after the fact that Natasha and Clint had been the forces behind the food fight in the cafeteria last week. Not that the information had come as a surprise. When confronted, both Natasha and Clint claimed that the other was calling them names.

And the mission they had just returned from… Definitely not their first one, or their best. And he couldn't even be mad at them for it. They were successful, but it had been like pulling teeth. They seriously needed some brand of team building exercise.

Withal, he had the odd feeling that it wouldn't be that simple. How did you get two spies with substantial trust issues to rely on each other?

Except that wasn't necessarily the problem. Or at least not the core of it. Because they did rely on each other in the end, even if just a small amount. They completed their mission and both came back alive, even if 'rely on' weren't the words anyone would use to describe what they did.

Whatever their problem was, it wasn't exactly something he had been taught to handle at the academy, but he had an idea. He would just need a little help.

Reluctantly, Coulson reached for the phone on his desk that was linked to the HQ comm system. He dialed in the extension that would get him who he wanted as he put the receiver up to his ear.

The line was picked up almost immediately. "This had better be important."

"It is, sir," Coulson replied to the Director. "I think I might have a solution to our Strike Team Delta situation."

Fury's retort was scathing. "You can fix the antipathy between two of the most juvenile assassins SHIELD has ever had?"

It did sound like a tall order. "Well I can't possibly make it worse," Coulson amended.

There was a prolonged pause full of dead air. Then a curt, "I'm listening," as a prompt for him to continue.

"I think they need a little time apart," Coulson began. "It's been over six months since agent Romanoff graduated and Strike Team Delta has been assigned almost back-to-back missions in that time frame. I'm sure that's enough to piss them off individually, let alone practically a solid six months together."

"The missions they have been assigned have been what most would call easy," the Director argued.

Coulson chose his words carefully, trying to convey exactly what he was getting at. "I agree, sir. But it still stands that both Barton and Romanoff, up until now, have done things completely independently from anyone else. I believe it would be beneficial to them to return to such conduct after their recent time of co-dependency. Ideally they'll realize how beneficial it is to have a skilled partner watching your back, even if that realization comes with their own survival in mind."

"And if they don't?" Fury inquired.

"Worst case scenario," Coulson responded, "they'll enjoy it and when they're reunited nothing will change." He paused before reiterating, "Things can't exactly get any worse between them than they are now."

A heavy sigh buzzed through the line. "What did you have in mind?"


End file.
